Somewhere in Time and Space
by LM Simpson
Summary: AU oneshot. Contains Dr Who elements. Bianca just wanted to get into a police box and instead she got the chance of a lifetime.


**Title: **Somewhere in Time and Space  
**Author: **LM Simpson (Kady the Red Panda)  
**Pairing(s): **Calculus/Castafiore  
**Rating: **T  
**Warning(s): **_Doctor Who_ crossover, brief language, headcanons ahoy, bastardization of several _Tintin_ adventures, rape attempt, Nelvana!cameo character (don't want to spoil the surprise), possible sensuality  
**Summary:** AU. "And it's something quite peculiar, something shimmering and white/it leads you here, despite your destination /under the Milky Way tonight."  
**Disclaimer: **I am not associated with Moulinsart, nor the BBC and other parties that help with producing _Doctor Who_. **  
Other tidbits: **Ah, the kinkmeme. You make me develop so many plot bunnies it's nuts. This will be told in thirteen fragments and have some odd character developments over the fic's duration. The most shocking will perhaps be fragment/incarnation I. Bianca's awesome, but how did she get that way? And I don't know about you guys, but seeing Calculus be all serious with his hearing aid on was kinda… I dunno, what was the word? Odd? Disturbing? Bothersome? I dunno. Yeah, he has a temper when he does show it, but it was a little out of place to how I usually see him.

0000

I.

When they first meet it's when Bianca is running for her life. By then her favorite red high heels are gone, her hair, clothes and makeup are soiled and running from muck, her purse stolen by the black-clad mugger chasing her with a knife. Her left cheek is sliced, dripping with fresh blood, and stinging from the day's biting chill. If there was any time to regret going about a rural town alone, this was it.

She outruns her attacker by sheer luck long enough. Obscured by a cluster of thorny bushes she takes the opportunity to place her hands on her knees and recover some much needed breath. Only then does she realize how much her lungs ache, as well as the fist she slammed into the man's right eye. When she looks up she detects a shining white light, something much like a beacon, or a sign. Raising her head higher up above the bushes she discovers a blue police box in the distance—a brief shelter, if not the best way for the bobbies to subdue the evil man that took so much from her. She must get to it, even if she gets killed in the process.

Her pantyhose covered feet squish under the fresh muck as she runs. Bianca trips and slips once, then regains her speed again. The man is still chasing her, cursing her, threatening her with that bloodstained knife.

She reaches the police box. What feelings she had of hope turn to fear when the door does not budge. She tugs and tugs, and yanks and yanks, even pushes and pushes. At one point knuckles whiten and her fingernails fracture into hangnails from the pressure; she cries harder than she already is. Yet it still refuses to open.

She chokes a sob. Thoughts of what the dirty, poorly shaven man will do besides steal her purse and cut her pretty face causes her breath and heartbeat to skyrocket. She can see the headlines: "Bianca Castafiore, Extravagant Milanese Nightingale, Slayed by Common Mugger."

_Please God, please,_ she thinks, _please don't let me die this way!_

One last time she tugs so hard that her own strength surprises her. The door cracks open, a squeaking metallic sound accompanying it. In she runs, without bothering to look at her attacker one last time, nor to look inside.

When she does tilt her head up, after a much needed quick recovery, her green eyes enlarge. Instead of a crammed police box containing a phone to contact the authorities, there is a wide space covered by boxy, yellow and red light beeping contraptions she has never seen in Milan, in London, not even New York City. What isn't covered by machines is copper if it's wall and gunmetal gray if it's floor. In the center is a tall metallic column—the power source, she assumes. She hears someone moving gears or something behind the source and calls out:

"What _is_ this place?"

The sounds stop. A balding, wrinkling man with Coke bottle glasses stares at the mud covered blonde woman in a designer red dress that reaches her knees. His brown eyes meet her swollen, raccoon-mascara-smeared ones.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" He presses a hand against an ear, appears to adjust something. His eyebrows wrinkle. The odd man moves away from his work station. He's wearing a high collared shirt covered by a knee length olive green coat, which makes the short man appear even odder. He points a finger as he steps closer. "How—how in the world did you—"

"Forgive me!" Bianca takes a step back. "I'm so sorry! I thought—I thought this was, this was… something else! I'll just leave n—"

"No!" He snaps. His expression softens from anger into fear. "You can't go now!"

She stops right when she turns and reaches for the door. "Why not?" She retorts.

"You'll possibly be neutralized if you try to leave now. Of course, I don't know if that will certainly happen, but I'd rather not take the chance."

Bianca laughs. Not because she finds it funny, but because it's the only reaction she can seem to create at this moment. She opens her rouge smeared mouth to ask what the hell this odd man is talking about when she feels the place jolt and shake. She flops to the ground, onto her belly. She attempts to get up again as the odd man adds:

"I just started the TARDIS up. It's too late to stop her, I'm afraid…"

The place—whatever he just called it—shakes more urgently. She slaps her sweaty and muddy hands against the coppery wall. She has that swishy, twisty feeling in her stomach and feels her head becoming increasingly lightheaded. She does not realize she has collapsed when she drops to the ground with a bang and closes her eyes.

II.

Bianca reawakens, eventually. She groggily searches around the room and discovers that she is in a bedroom containing her, the bed she is atop of, and a metallic cubbie welded against a wall of matching material and color. There is a circular fluorescent light in the center of the ceiling, she discovers when she looks up, and no sheets of any kind on the white box spring mattress she's lying on, she discovers when she looks down. She catches a hint of olive when she swiftly looks down, and brings her head back up to see the odd little man in front of the bed, sitting on a wooden chair. He only looks straight at her, as if he was observing a specimen under a microscope.

She jumps back up with a startle, dragging dried mud along the mattress in the process. "You! What are you—"

"Not to worry, my good lady," he says, "I won't give you any harm as long as you don't harm me. I have never been one to attack unprovoked, you see."

Bianca bites her lip. "Well then... How did I get here?"

The odd man twiddled his thumbs. "Well, first you somehow broke into my TARDIS. And then I started her up and you fainted. Not to worry, it is a typical first reaction when you're not used to her. The very same thing happened to _me_ the first time I took her for a spin at the academy!" He chuckles before continuing, "And then I dragged you into a barren guest bedroom, and then-"

"We're still in the police box thing?" Bianca asked, wide eyed. "But I thought where we were was just-"

"Oh no," he replies. "Time Lord technology, Signora."

The singer's mouth drops in confusion. "Time Lore..."

He raises a pointer finger as he elaborates, "It's bigger than it appears on the outside."

"No, no. Not just that. What is a Time Lord?"

The man tugs at his high collar. "Well, it is difficult to explain in a condensed paragraph..."

Bianca blinks. "I just need the barest details to understand."

"Then... I, Signora, in the most important details in order for you to comprehend this, am for the most part a high level and well educated time traveler and explorer from a planet located in the constellation of Kaster-"

"Good heavens! Do tell me you are trying to play me as a fool! There is no such thing as aliens..." She stares at the frowning man. "...Right?"

He raises from his chair with a sigh. He opens the cubbie and takes out a stethoscope. He tosses it into her lap before sitting beside her with his legs dangling over the edge. Bianca places the ends into her ear and clutches the heart hearing thing (she does not know the exact name for it) in her palm.

"First, rest it here," the man says, placing his right hand over the left side of his chest. Bianca, confused at it all, obeys. She hears a steady heartbeat. She becomes more confused when he places his hand over the right side. "Now here. Don't give me that look! You'll see why in a moment..."

Her own heart nearly stops when she hears a second heartbeat on the other side of his chest. Bianca gasps. She drops the stethoscope and it yanks out her ears and back onto her lap to be forgotten. "But... But that's impossible!"

"Not on Gallifrey, it's not."

"But you..." She points at him. "You look human! How is that-"

"A proper explanation, again, requires much information for you to digest. The general gist is, Signora, that Gallifreyans may look human on the outside, but we are not necessarily human on the inside."

After an awkward moment of silence, as Bianca stares at and attempts to comprehend that this odd little man with the oversized coat sitting beside her is not exactly an odd little _man_. The man wipes his glasses clean with breath and cloth before slapping a petite wrinkling hand onto her shoulder.

"And I do believe that is enough of a biology lesson for you today Signora-"

"Castafiore. I am Bianca Castafiore. At least you guessed where I came from correctly."

"Ah, Bianca, Bianca..." He taps a finger against his head. "Beautiful name; simply _bella_! Just like Italia herself—the Winter Olympics at Milan were simply divine!" Bianca raises an eyebrow before it occurs to her that this is perhaps a future event he is referring to. "Oh, and do forgive me if I forget that once or twice. My memory is not as good as it used to be."

"As long as you remember it I'll be happy, Mister-?"

"Oh right! I have not introduced myself formally yet! Terribly sorry! My name is not important to you at the moment, but you may refer to me as the Professor."

At least she has a name to call him besides "the odd little man." "Then, _Professor," _she says, with a smirk "as long as you remember my name _eventually_ (and by eventually I mean soon) I'll be happy. I also thank you for not throwing me out of your time machine when I was out of it."

"Not a problem, Signora." He stands up and rubs her mud covered dress with his fingers. "You must be suffering in that soiled attire."

"You have no idea!" Bianca declares, lifting the area the Professor touched. "And this was my best dress too!"

"How about you go wash yourself? The washroom shouldn't be too far down the hall. You're welcome to visit my wardrobe too. I'm positive I have 17th century clothing matching your measurements in there..."

"You are too kind, Professor!" She leaves the bed, causing the stethoscope to clank to the floor, and follows behind him. "Oh, if only more men were more understanding of how women should be..." Bianca stops in her tracks as the man continues down the right side of the hall. She registers the remainder of his words before resuming her following him. "Why precisely 17th century dress?"

III.

Bianca regrets ever even thinking of leaving the time machine thing as the pirate strikes and her corners her under the dank deck. She only begins to register the kick in her left shin when the red booted foot drives into her stomach this time. The singer sobs, clutching her bruising belly instead of looking at the cackling man standing over her with crossed arms.

"Oh ho! How kind of Sir Francis to provide a whore as a welcome gift! I wonder how he knew that you are perfect according to my preferences?" The pirate captain uncrosses his arms and cups a palm over Bianca's chapped lips. A muffled whimper escapes when gloved fingers dribble across her heaving bosom, then down her royal blue dress.

The pirate appears oblivious to her eying the staircase as he tugs at the ankle length hem like a cat pawing at a cornered mouse's tail. "Now stay quiet, wench," he whispers when he leans over her face, "and no one will get hur-"

A white blast of energy, much like a ball of sparks, strikes the pirate's back. He frees Bianca and jumps up to clutch his stunned back. Then the force behind him snatches him by the collar and tosses him backwards into a treasure chest on the other side of the room. Pearls and a rainbow of gems scatter about the floor. Bianca struggles to rise with a sore shin. If she could give the man any credit, Red Rackham could give a forceful kick when he wanted to.

A petite, wrinkling hand reaches for her. Absentmindedly she takes it, before tilting her head up. In the moonlight from the open trapdoor she recognizes the Professor. He appears to be attempting to withhold some sort of emotion. Relief? Anger? Disappointment? Regardless, he's rescued her for the second time today (or, at least, what she defines as "today") and she stutters:

"_G-g-grazie..._How did you do that?"

"That's not important now," he replies, placing his spark discharging umbrella against his hip like a knight with his sword. "We must go back into the TARDIS and allow Sir Francis to finish Red Rackham off before the ship blows up and incinerates us."

Red Rackham groans. So does the wooden floor as he attempts to rise up like a zombie. Bianca turns towards the dark side before facing her savior, snapping:

"You mean to tell me that you landed on a ship that you knew was about to-"

"Like I said, no time to explain, Signora!" He takes her by the wrist. Gems and who knows what else stab at her feet (bare from when her slippers dragged off as the pirate pulled her downstairs) as they run up the stairs. They pass by the bearded man knighted Sir Francis Haddock when they hop out of the trap door and towards the extra mast that appeared on deck when they arrived.

"How am I going to explain this to anyone?" Sir Francis calls out them, and so therefore the Professor and only the Professor. "No one will believe me when I explain such a tale, ye know."

The Professor lets go and faces the captain. He smiles. "Not to worry. You're a bright man, I'm positive. Your brain will draft something close enough to accept as the truth." He steps backwards and miraculously avoids a pirate's bloodied body. "Oh, and it could be much, much worse, actually. If you hadn't slayed Rackham's partner—Diego the something, it does not matter now—you could've been fighting an alien wearing Rackham's body right now! I bid you good luck, Sir Haddock!"

The purple clad man clutches his blanched face before regaining his strength and hopping down the stairs. The Professor, meanwhile, takes the time to prepare a dinghy for the hero-to-be to escape from (as was contracted) before rejoining a shaking (from night chill and fright) nightingale outside the cloaked time vessel.

Moments after the TARDIS, and with it the fake mast it employed as its disguise, vrooms away into nothing, the Unicorn explodes, taking all but its escaping former captain down with it.

IV.

A week passes.

The nightingale is now back in the comfort of her tiny nest in Milan. Back to security, back to her own extensive wardrobe (including the pink crepe dress she is now wearing), back to knowing where, when, and who she was. She hears someone, presumably Igor Wagner, playing piano in the parlor downs the hall as she attempts to write a letter to her mother. Attempts, because the only words she can draft are ones that should not be cast in ink.

Bianca's mind keeps drifting back to the odd little man from another planet and the time machine-thing, the one that can change into anything it wants, it turns out, not just a police box and a fake mast, and the last time she saw the both of them. Occasionally she turns her neck towards the white, red-and-pink-floral printed jewelry box resting on her white painted drawers and visualizes the large pebble sized emerald she caught under her foot during their escape currently resting in her own treasure chest. But, more than that, as she clacks her French manicured nails against the polished desk, she remembers the last conversation she had with the Time Lord:

_The Professor goes immediately back to tinkering at a module after placing the vessel on cruise control. Bianca digs her fingers into his nearest shoulder and kisses his cheek with a hard slap when he faces her. _

"_Now, my dear lady," he sternly says whilst rubbing, "That was truly uncalled for."_

_Bianca crosses her arms and glares. "Oh trust me. You deserved that. How dare you!"_

"_How dare I what?"_

"_How dare you allow me out of this thing when you knew how dangerous it would be! If I had known, I would've spent the time practicing my scales, or doing my nails, or doing anything else but almost be violated by a brutish man by another time period on a ship that was fated to explode into the Caribbean sea!"_

_The Professor blinks. "You truly were not aware of that danger being a possibility, Bianca? That is something all time travelers should know before their first voy-"_

"_First voyage?!" Bianca laughs once. "Try my first and last! Bring me back to my time period. Preferably back to London so I can catch up with my party and I won't be abandoned when they return to my dear Italy!" She points to the console the man is sitting in front of. "And I mean now, Mister Professor, so I will never have to see you again!"_

_The Professor frowns. "You... are certain that that's how you want this to go?"_

"_Oh, yes! I mean it with a seriousness I... did not... know I..." Bianca's arms slowly dropped to her hips._

_The thick lenses accentuate the apparent sadness the Time Lord's chocolate brown eyes display. He clears the mist fogged pair against his coated chest and rubs his eyes. _

"_Are... You alright, Professor?"_

"_Oh yes, physically I am in the pristine condition expected for someone my three thousand years, short of some hearing loss." He points against the ear she saw him manipulate something inside and somehow manages to contort his lips into an oxymoronous glumly smile. "But regarding my emotional state... I am quite saddened by what you've commanded me to do. Bianca, don't you remember anything before that horrible man attempted to violate you?"_

"_Why yes. Another horrible man attacked me."_

"_No, no. After that... We had such a wonderful time exploring the Bahamas by ourselves and with Sir Francis! Granted, the crew were all somewhat cautious after the previous attack from Red Rackham's ship, but we were all laughing and dancing and partaking in the finest ship food the seventeenth century had to offer! You truly do not remember that?"_

_Bianca stares, seemingly dumbfounded. With all the chaos that just occurred her mind only immediately recalled the worst. _

"_Yes, now that you mention it... I do recall it. They were lovely times."_

"_We could have more lovely times together, if you truly desire it. I will be honest, Signora..." He stands up before her. "I have been very lonely my whole time exploring the universe and my time here. As much as the Earth fascinates me I have yet to find the courage to interact with many people. It would appear that you are the first Earthling I've made extensive contact with. For once... I felt at peace. I had someone else to experience this with besides being policed around by another Time Lord. And as we were having all our fun I was wondering if you would... accompany me on other trips. We don't even have to go to another galaxy. We can go anywhere you like. Will it still be 1950s London, even after this proposal? I'm not skilled in the art of the desperate plea, I'm afraid..."_

_Bianca looks at him. She frowns; she cannot resist a man with puppy dog eyes, even if he almost sent her to a fiery death in another time and place besides her own. He appears sincere and genuine enough._

"_Yes..."_

_He looks as if his two hearts just stopped._

"_...But only because I need to do some work first, and to come up with where to go."_

_The professor claps his hands together and whoops with joy before constricting her ribcage like a corset. _

"_Oh thank you, my sweet signora! My sweet, sweet signora! Thank you so much!" He smooches a cheek. "I shall see you in an Earth week's time..." _

Wait.

She recalls the elapsed time. _Hasn't it already been a w-_

"EEK!" Stationary flies off the desk and drifts down like rectangular snowflakes as she takes cover under the desk. At first she cannot remember where she heard those whoosing sounds from. And then... as another wardrobe materializes in the center of the room...

"Professor!" She cries as she crawls out, reunites with the man exiting out. They do not touch, but rather stand inches away from each other.

"Ah, Bianca! What fortune! I worried for a moment I would land in the wrong structure! But you have reassured me my TARDIS is still a reliable girl... Have you decided on a destination yet?"

She giggles, places a fist against her chin. She blushes. "Well, it isn't only _one_ destination..."

V.

"So, Signora Castafiore," the Professor says multiple trips later as they move down the hall, towards the vessel's front door, "What is your opinion on the great Italian opera composers that we encountered during this itinerary?"

Bianca sighs. She adjusts a stray blond lock waging war with a mascara dyed lash. "I am disappointed, to say the least. All of them were brutes. Immature, conniving..." and, when words fail her, "...brutish brutes!"

She does have one positive thing in her review, however. "Gounod was a nice man... Although he isn't Italian."

The Professor allows his pendulum to dangle before him when they enter the control room. "Ah, so you appreciate my advice that we should travel more to the west?"

"Oh, sure. Good thing that Gounod wasn't like the others. His 'Jewel Song' is a favorite of mine. I think I'll sing it more often than I already do, as a thank you of sorts..."

"Then do inform me how often you do sing it until the next time we meet. See you in a week!" He smiles as he opens the front door, kisses her forwarded hand before she daintily steps back into her bedroom.

VI.

Bianca encounters her first alien (besides the one she has been traveling on and off with) in Peru, thirty years before her current time.

Well, to be precise, _aliens._ They are not little green men from Mars like in the movies but still ugly and inhuman all the same. These real aliens, a species whose name she could not pronounce or spell from a galaxy two million and three-fourths light years away, resemble Spanish moss covered gorillas, if their scalps were shaved and possessed red peepers. They are armed with not just brute force but also ray guns that could easily resemble a toy gun from a children's program and be comical to look at if it weren't for the fact they fired purplish red plasma that melted flesh away from bone and cartilage.

This ammunition already slaughters half an archeology camp by one of the famed Nazca lines, one shaped like a hummingbird, when the Professor finally devises a plan to stop them. All but one of the survivors, a young student from a university in England, flee and are decimated by more gunfire before he does. And so it's just Bianca, the boy, and him as they stop total annihilation from these bloodthirsty beings.

The boy with the scratchy beard drives an abandoned, hoodless jeep towards what turns out to be an intergalactic landing disguised as Earth animals. They stop within a couple thousand meters of the alien ship, a black ship that resembles a bullet and is larger than any airplane Bianca has ever seen. This race thrives on a hive mentality, the Professor explains, and if you kill the queen (or mistress control center) the whole lot will stop in their tracks. Then he says that that is what makes them a much more desirable enemy than the Daleks, but he does not dare explain what those are and how they are worse as he leads the way into the ship.

Bianca does not remember much else. Everything went too fast, for one. All she can remember is what comes after, when the ship is detonated with something (was it really the Professor's umbrella or was she hallucinating at that point?) and all that there is left are alien and former-human corpses baking in the sun.

"My word..." the green blood slimed boy says, dropping to his knees. "It's over... I don't know what to do now, Professor. My teacher, my mentor, a couple of my fellow classmates... All felled... I am the only one..."

"Yes," the Professor says, standing beside him with his hands in his coat pockets and looking forward to search for life. "That is an indisputable fact. But that is only because you're a survivor, Hercules Tarragon. You've survived small scale genocide because you were strong, like your namesake. That is a good quality to possess in any given period of history. And you can only become stronger at this point."

He places a hand on the saddened boy's shoulder. "Come. We can bring you back home, but not much else I'm afraid."

VII.

Bianca enters 1930s Brussels with a headache and leaves it when a migraine. Like Hercules they picked up another companion during this otherwise uneventful trip. But this one was more involuntary.

The blond man shakes and rocks on the bare mattress just outside the control center. His red tie (and his entire brown business attire, at that) are out of place from him clawing away at it while in the throws of anxiety.

"Oh Jesus, oh Jesus..."

Bianca and the Professor are at the opposite end of the room, sitting on chairs from the next room over. They stare at each other, unsure of how to react. One moment they were leaving Brussels for another place they did not decide on just yet, and another moment this man materializes out of nowhere next to the centralcolumn in the main control room.

"Do you have any idea how he came in, Professor?"

He scratches his chin. Now the man tugs at his hair and whimpers. "Perhaps he was right next to the vortex when the TARDIS left. Sucked in, just like a vacuum. He would've been extremely close for that to occur..." He calls over to the increasingly hysterical Belgian: "Pardon me! I do have a question to ask of you!"

If he heard the professor, he does not show it. "I... I'm in Hell. Oh, bloody Mary, I'm in Hell! I know it! I know it!"

"I doubt simply _parlez-vous_-ing with him will work," Bianca sighs.

"Then..." The Professor grabs the umbrella against his leg and moves towards the man. He scurries off the bed and cowers against the metallic wall. The man now only screams as the Professor forwards the tip of his brolly towards his stomach. A white sparkly light, just like the one that struck Red Rackham, causes him to collapse.

Bianca's hands clasp her opened jaw. The professor twirls the handle whilstreturning to his seat. Not another word is spoken between the pair as he inspects the tip and casually props it back against his leg.

...

"I'm as confused as the two of you," the man explains when he comes to. He shakingly lights a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and readjusts his seat on the bare mattress. Bianca and the Professor are still in their chairs, only they are closer to the bed. "One moment I'm passing a light pole and the next thing I know I'm in here!"

"Just as I suspected..." the odd little man says.

"Will you please tell me where I am?" The Belgian says. "I doubt this is what the inside of a light pole looks like."

"Oh, certainly not! You are in a time vessel. We are traveling across the universe as we speak."

The cigarette slowly smolders between his fingers. His eyes widen, unsure whether to declare this a cruel and elaborate prank.

"I was just as incredulous when the Professor informed me," Bianca tries to reassure him.

The Belgian nervously chuckles. "So... We're not in Brussels right now?"

Both shake their head.

"And you're not joking?" He appears on the verge of laughing and crying when he shakingly smokes again.

Both nod their head.

The man laughs one last time before collapsing backwards, cigarette still in hand.

Bianca sighs. This was going to be a long journey.

VIII.

"Now that I think about it," the Belgian says over coffee after a lengthy nap, "I do think I've seen you elsewhere before." He points at Bianca. "You were featured in a review at the newspaper I work at."

Bianca grins for the first time since this stranger accidentally came on board. "Oh, do I have an admirer in front of me?"

She plumps up her hair until she detects the unmistakeable sound of air sucked through teeth. "Actually... I can't stand opera."

"Oh..." She glares. "You don't say..."

Then he points at the Professor. "I think I've seen you too." Bianca whips her head towards the unfazed Time Lord. "Did you ever do anything in, for example, balloons? Or..." He moves his hands around.

"Is this true, Professor?" She could not recall seeing this odd little man anywhere prior to the day she broke into his vehicle.

Forwarding a palm but nothing else to the singer, he answers, "To make a long story short, yes. But that is not important."

"Yes, it is," the blond stranger says. "It would mean there are things beyond Earth, Heaven and Hell if you two are both not from this planet."

Bianca rises from her seat. "I am _not_-"

The Professor places a finger in front of her and shushes. She huffs and sits back down.

"Hmm... Of course, I don't think anyone will believe me back... home..." He replaces his coffee cup, clutches his head. "_Mon dieu..._ How am I going to get home?"

"You can stay with us if you like," the Professor suggests.

"You don't understand. I have to go home. I have a family to support soon. My wife and I, we're expecting our first child."

Bianca gasps. "A baby?"

"Oh, my stars!" The Time Lord clasps his hands and squeals with joy. "Congratulations! Is your wife having a son or a daughter?"

The two earthlings stare at the odd little man with confusion. He slowly unclasps his hands. "Oh, right... Such technology hasn't been developed just yet in your respective times..."

"Whether she's carrying a boy or girl, it's my child. And I would like to see my child when it's born. Is it possible for me to go back to my rightful place, sir?"

"Sure! That can be arranged, Mister-"

"Georges." The Belgian slaps himself. "Excuse me, Georges Remi."

"Well, whether you prefer a first name or full name basis, Monsieur Remi, we accept casualty in all situa-"

Sirens blare in the room. Georges's coffee cup shatters on and dings the metal floor when the TARDIS shakes.

"Professor!" Bianca cries to the man crawling to the central column in the next room over. "What's happening?"

The Professor scans a monitor before all color flees his cheeks. "Oh my.."

"Professor? PROFESSOR! _Per favore,_ answer me!"

He does not look at Bianca or Georges. All he can feel in his hearts are sharp pains. "This does not bode well..."

IX.

The nightingale sings a sorrowful song. She clutches her face and does not care that her makeup is smearing. She's in the bedroom she customized with her own possessions to create a little piece of Milan wherever she went. The Professor is on the bed, sitting beside the sobbing woman.

They had left the TARDIS to investigate the error causing the machine to malfunction. It turned out to be a peculiar black void that attempted to drag them in.

Three entered the arena. Only two returned.

It was all her fault that this occurred. She's convinced of that. If it wasn't for her reassuring him that it would be okay to leave in their orange astronaut Georges would've stayed put inside. If it wasn't for her slipping from the red rope securing them Georges wouldn't have tried to go after her. And if it wasn't for her being sucked closer to the black void Georges wouldn't have had to push her back to the Professor's grip, only to be sucked in himself.

"How terrible! How horrible! Why Professor? Why?" She weeps.

He does not answer. He only looks at her as if he's attempting to brainstorm a proper answer himself.

Normally, Bianca does not take pity on those that criticize her and the grand arena that is opera. All she knew of him was that his name was Georges Remi, he was from Brussels, and he hated opera. And yet, she feels uncontrollable grief over this man she only met for a few hours maximum. Then, she remembers another tidbit that she missed in her initial fact sheet...

"It's all my fault he won't ever be able to go home! It's all my fault he won't ever see his child! That's all he wanted, I'm positive! But now he can't do that because it's all my fault that he's dead!"

"Now, now, now, don't blame yourself. The universe has its own funny ways of handling fate at times. And further... He's not dead, Signora," he says.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, that he's not dead? I saw him stretched into it like a strand of spa-"

"Allow me to explain. Granted, his body is gone... But his very essence still exists. He is rather between planes. Or limbo, as you Catholic humans call it."

"Will we be able to retrieve him then?"

The Time Lord shakes his head. "If we enter the void ourselves we will be trapped too. I'm afraid he will stay there forever, transitioning between one body and one world to another. See? It's not all bad news."

This only makes Bianca cry harder. The Professor pulls at his high collar.

"Err... Was that the wrong thing to say to you, Signora?"

She looks at him, muddled makeup and all, with disbelief and rising rage. He takes it as a yes.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! Forgive me; I did not understand. What do you want me to do to make it up to you, Bianca?"

"Hold me, you odd little man! Please! It's too much on my own!"

The Professor feels odd as he wraps an arm around her body. Yet at the same time he feels warmer and more charitable doing so. It is a good, if awkward, feeling. She leans against him, clutches his coat, and continues to weep.

"Please..."

"Please what, my dear Bianca?"

"Please... please take me back home. I need time to think. Time to be alone."

The Professor frowns. He wants to protest, but knows that it's for the best that Bianca thinks this over on her own. This hugging was extraordinary enough for him for one day. A natural born counselor he was not.

"I'll give you a week."

Bianca lands straight on her bed and resumes weeping when she returns to Milan.

X.

She encounters a lad while in Syldavia, one that randomly asks to get into her car en route to a performance in Klow. Tintin has red hair, freckles, and gray eyes but something is familiar about him. His accent and his reactions to her singing (her attempt to break the ice with this shaken looking boy) makes him even more familiar despite her not seeing him before this event. She still ponders how she thinks she knows of him for awhile after dropping him off in the middle of the street (and not just because he informs her he is a reporter), and then forgets about the whole thing while dressing and practicing her scales one last time.

Then, while she is performing for the king she swears she sees Georges in the distance, wearing a royal guard uniform and standing behind His Majesty. Perhaps it is him, or someone that looks like him, she's not sure. But this man certainly resembles the Belgian...

Belgian.

While still singing Bianca remembers: _Didn't that boy tell me that he was from-_

Tintin crashes out of a window. Only when she sees both "Georges" and Tintin in her sight does she makes a connection.

_I will definitely have to inform the Professor when he comes after this trip_, she promises herself after recovering from her fainting spell.

XI.

But the Professor does not come to pick her up at the week's end, or the next week's, or the week after that.

"Where in the world is that odd little man?" She murmurs while dressing into her nightclothes, finger brushing her hair.

"What 'odd little man,' madame?"

Irma is behind her, as she can see in her reflection.

"Are you talking about Igor?"

Bianca doesn't know how to answer. The last thing she wanted to do was frighten the maid with tales of her traveling across time and space with a man possessing two hearts.

"Oh, it's none of your concern, you silly girl."

Irma frowns. "You know that you can trust me with any secret. Yes?"

"Yes... But there's some things better left kept to oneself."

…

_I miss him_, she realizes in the bath, _I miss him_.

As much as she enjoys singing before an audience, playing card games with Irma and Igor, and visiting exotic lands, she misses something else: adventure. Adventures to times different from her own, adventures that revealed creatures beyond her wildest dreams, adventures with... Him. Just the two of them together. As odd as he was, that oddness was what made the Professor the Professor. She grew to love that peculiar characterization over the course of their trips and now, if she was correct...

"_Dio mio!" _She sobs into her bath water. "Why of all the men I've encountered it has to be _him_?"

…

While sifting through her chest of gems she eyes a large pebble sized emerald. Out of all the jewels in her keep this one is the one that deserves special treatment. She begins placing it in its own small, wooden box when Irma peeks over her shoulder.

"How gorgeous? Where did you get it, Madame? I don't think I've ever seen this one before."

The emerald rolls along her manicured fingers. It glistens, like the bright man she has to thank for her obtaining it. "It... It was a gift."

Irma notices how nostalgic her mistress appears. "From who? Madame?"

"The p-..." She catches her slip just in time. "No, not the prince. The Maharajah of Gopal."

XII.

She can't believe it. After all this time, it is like she's in the middle of sighting a ghost.

The Professor, slightly worse for wear but otherwise unchanged, is standing right in front of her, hands in pockets. He adjusts his tie while Tintin says:

"Excuse me, Signora, may I introduce our old friend Professor Calculus."

Calculus. Not just the Professor. Professor _Calculus_. So this was perhaps the pseudonym Georges and he were referring that chaotic time ago.

"How enchanting, how absolutely thrilling to meet you: the man who makes all those daring ascents in balloons!" She says as he kisses her hand.

At first optimism is filling her to the brim. He is complimenting her, praising her... And then he continues opening his mouth, spouting nonsense about her painting. _Painting! _And with no joking detected at that.

As much as she wants to weep, the show must go on. Somehow she keeps her composition while going around Marlinspike, fooling around with Sir Francis's descendant and exploring the premises.

…

She sees Georges again. He is now part of a lighting crew instead of a bodyguard. The man lifts Tintin up to his feet after the lad trips over one of the many cords snaking across the floor. Georges looks at the boy walking away with a mix of happiness, love, regret, and sorrow before fading away, revealing the Italian technician whose body he temporarily possessed.

"Signora Castafiore," the redhead whispers to her, just loud enough that he doesn't have to breathe into her ear, "I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Do you ever feel sometimes that someone you know is always present?"

She raises a brow. "In what way?"

"It's peculiar. My mother, before the car accident took her, informed me that my father mysteriously disappeared before my birth. I don't know about you, but in my case I at times get this feeling that he is... around, even if it is not my father himself." He repeats to himself, "It's the oddest feeling..." before looking at her with concern.

"...Are you weeping, Signora?"

…

She has few opportunities to converse with this "Professor Calculus" whilst at Marlinspike. Only at her trip's end do they truly get close again. And true to his nature, he is unpredictable. The roses named after her provide her so much promise she can't help but kiss him.

She sniffs in the lovely scent over and over again in the car, basking in happiness, until Irma's voice interrupts her.

"What is it Irma?" Once she realizes how gruff she sounds, she says, "Oh, forgive me. I don't know what came over me..."

"It's alright," the ever faithful maid replies. "I just wanted to inform you that you dropped this when you picked up the bouquet..."

Bianca hands over the bunch to Irma in exchange for the letter. A long fingernail doubles as a letter opening and she proceeds reading. Her eyes enlarge with every scribbled word her mind processes.

XIII.

After San Theodoros she needs a vacation, that's for sure. A real one, not one in that war torn country, that's for sure.

A twig snaps under a red high heel as she turns past a bush, spots the Professor standing beside a tree. The sun is bright even after passing through the leafy canopy, just like Bianca's happiness. She doesn't give a damn that she's in high heels. She charges towards him while sporting what she's sure is the goofiest grin in the universe.

"Oh, Professor!" She hugs the man so hard broken ribs could puncture his hearts. To her surprise, he hugs her too. "Oh, Professor! You had me so worried! I thought you were-"

"Dead? Oh no! I am very much alive as you can see! Just had a bump on my head. Crashed the TARDIS while around Belgium. My fault, really... Professor Tarragon—yes, he's Professor Tarragon now—found me and informed me I was Cuthbert Calculus. How he developed that name, I don't know. It's certainly not the other alias I formed while doing balloon experiments. But somehow no one noticed that Auguste Piccard appeared to disappear from the face of the Earth when my new identity came to being. I began remembering the occasional thing while helping my friends recover Sir Francis's ship, and yet it was reuniting with you at Marlinspike that I totally regained my memory. How my second heart stopped without killing me I will never know, but how fortunate I was not found out during this period." He lets go and scratches his head. "I do like this identity, so much in fact I believe I will keep it when I'm on Earth, I admit, albeit sometimes there is something, oh what is the word..."

"...Missing?"

A nod. "Yes! Missing! Quite a perfect word for this situation! ...But that's enough explanation, for now. Time is passing by as we stand here. Where do you care to go, my dear Bianca? Anywhere you desire, just the two of us."

She taps a finger against her chin, smiling. "Hmm... Renaissance Florence perhaps? Oh! Or Venice! Venice is wonderful! Wouldn't it be adorable if the TARDIS disguised itself as a gondola?"

"Would you care to test that little theory of yours?" He turns around, pulls away bark that turns out to be the door to the Time Lord's signature vessel. "She's all healed up and ready to move about."

"You bet, darling!" She says while the Professor assists her inside like a gentleman. He steps inside after her, closes the door, and before long the TARDIS vrooms away into another time and place.


End file.
